


Excalibur's Heart

by ValmureEld



Series: Legend of the Sword Deserved Better So I'll Write it All Myself [1]
Category: King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)
Genre: Angst, Cold, Excalibur, Gen, Humor, Hypothermia, I hate myself for writing this but it just came to me, Injury, Magic, Magic Swords, cuddling for warmth, magic connection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-03 13:17:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10968036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValmureEld/pseuds/ValmureEld
Summary: The Lady of the Lake bound Excalibur to the Pendragon bloodline, but nobody realized that Arthur would bond so completely with his weapon that his knights could read him by it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I adored King Arthur: Legend of the Sword and I refuse to let it go unnoticed in the fanfiction archive. I know this isn't the first fic but I wanted gen fic and magic (and whump) darnit. So I'll write it all my darn self if I gotta. 
> 
> This headcannon slapped me upside the head earlier so here I am writing a fic with the kind of ending I never write.
> 
> Edit: All my Arthur fics are now part of a series.

He first noticed something was odd about the sword when he held it to knight his king. He didn't think too much about it: after all, Excalibur was a magical super weapon. Why should he consider it strange when he thought he felt the slightest vibration inside the handle? He didn't even register the heat under the grip at first. Arthur had just been holding it, of course the warmth from his hand lingered. 

But then, when he moved it from against the wall to lay on the table much later he felt it again. Bill paused, raising an eyebrow. Instead of releasing the weapon he held Excalibur in both hands, resting the flat of the blade against his palm and holding the handle in a gentle grip. 

“That's odd,” he murmured. The other newly christened knights glanced at him, including Arthur who was half way through a pint and a story. 

“What's odd?” 

“The sword--”

“It is a magical sword,” Bedivere said. “What could possibly be odd about it after what we've seen Arthur do with it?”

“Well, for starters Arthur isn't currently wielding it, and besides destroying water levels it never did anything without him before.” 

“What is it doing now?” Arthur asked, turning to sit astride the bench with his hand resting loose on his beer stein. 

“...pulsing. And it's just so slightly warm.” 

“What?” Bedivere said, his eyebrows going up. He stood and went to the sword, laying his palm against the blade. Sure enough, William was telling the truth.

“Pulsing how?” Arthur asked, getting up and furrowing his brow. Bill glanced at Arthur, considering for a moment before he reached out and pressed his fingers into his king's throat. Arthur quirked an eyebrow and tilted his head back, but didn't back away. “Bill?”

“Pulsing like you,” he said after a moment, dropping his hand. “Probably why you didn't notice it. It's in tune with your heartbeat.” 

“What?” Arthur said, reaching out with surprise sparking in his blue eyes to grasp the handle. He held it loose, turning the blade before running his free hand along the flat. “You sure you're not imagining things?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Bill reached out and slapped Arthur without warning, before grabbing the sword handle and Arthur's wrist right after. Arthur jumped and glared, tensing on the weapon. Bill held fast, not letting Arthur yank it out of his grip. 

“I am your king now you remember?” he said with indignation. Bill ignored him.

“Yep,” he said after a moment, letting go of Arthur and Excalibur. “Definitely your pulse in that blade because it reacted to the slap.” 

Bedivere hid an amused smile behind his hand and Tristan snorted and chuckled, grinning. Arthur glared at Bill in a way he couldn't quite sustain. 

“I can't believe you just slapped me to test a theory.”

Bill shrugged, sitting down at the table and pouring himself a mug. “Worked, didn't it?”

Nobody was quite sure when the sword began echoing Arthur's pulse, but it didn't stop. Arthur was never fully aware of it but all of his knights eventually were, feeling the subtle tremor when they handed it to him while preparing for travel or feeling it surge mid battle when he fumbled it and Gawain dove into the mud to fling it back into play. 

Once, when Arthur had gone missing they found Excalibur laying untouched in his bedchambers and a quick grasp on the handle gave them renewed hope because there was still a quiet warmth and a steady pulsing under the leather. 

Another time, at the end of their collective rope and still required to fight, Arthur fell hard. Injured and forced to hide in a cave, he refused his men's insistence on guarding him so each knight took it in turns to carry Excalibur out on the battlefield. That way, at least, they knew he was still breathing. 

One day, years later in the dark of winter, William reached out with trembling fingers and grasped Excalibur's iced over handle. The lump in his throat grew painful as he bowed his head. 

Excalibur was planted upright in the dirt, snow gathering across its pommel. Not a flicker of his king's pulse remained to warm the enchanted metal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate myself. Probably gonna write an alternate ending because I can't stomach killing him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As promised because I just don't do deathfics. I don't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys would not believe how utterly ecstatic I am that this story has not only drawn like-minded people but sparked discussion. I truly, really truly thought my friend and I would have nobody to gush to but each other, and now not only do I have everyone who reviewed this but I get to see you guys build off one another. I seriously got all emotional because as a story teller it pains me when such a beautiful, intricate piece of fiction is so cruelly and unjustly crucified by the media. I am so happy other people saw what I did and loved it just as much. You guys have inspired me to keep writing here. Thank you. It is so, so cool to meet you all and I hope we can build some kind of a community together.

The only reason Bedivere saw it at all was because the snow reflected well in the dark. 

“William,” he said, his eyes wide, his breath fogging. “Look!” 

He held the sword up, watching it intently for some sign. Bill stopped in his tracks as well, and the other knights quickly gathered.

“What did you see?” William asked, looking from the blade into Bedivere's shocked expression.

“It glowed, just for a moment. I saw it reflect off of the snow.” 

“It doesn't just glow on its own, does it? I mean—it has to mean--” Tristan said, his eyes lighting.

Bedivere's brow furrowed and he shook his head. “I don't know what it means. We still must prepare for the worst...none of us have been able to feel a pulse through the blade for hours. The sword is bound to the Pendragon bloodline, it is not dependent on it.” 

“Whatever the case, I'm not going to let a debate stop us from finding him in time,” William said, pressing ahead. The barest trace of Arthur's trail had led them further into the forest until finally a cave loomed. Tristan swallowed hard, drawing his own sword and raising his torch further aloft. 

“I'll go in first, George can follow and help me clear any threat. Arthur's trail ends here, so if we don't find him we make camp and we inform the others in the morning.” He looked around, his fingers tight on the torch. Fear was bright in his eyes, and he saw it in all the others. “Agreed?”

The rest of the knights hesitated, but presently Bedivere bowed his head once. “Agreed.” None of them wanted to give up on Arthur, to believe their king was dead far too young, but if he was then taking care of his kingdom and honoring his name would be the best way to mourn him. As they progressed, Bedivere kept one eye on the blade, praying for another flicker and hoping they wouldn't have to. Arthur's own heir hadn't even been born yet and the thought of telling Guinevere so soon that she was a widow twisted his heart. 

They walked for a good half mile before Tristan froze, holding his torch aloft. “There!” he exclaimed suddenly, breaking into a dead run. He skidded to his knees at Arthur's side, planting the torch in the packed earth with a mighty thud and dropping his sword, falling immediately to lay his ear to Arthur's breast.

The rest of the knights stood in a breathless half circle around Tristan and Arthur, the firelight flickering off icy walls and Arthur's ashen face. Ice gathered in his beard and there was blood crusting between the fingers that remained resting against his injured side. 

“Tristan...” Bedivere said after several long moments. “Anything?” 

Tristan closed his eyes and pressed his forehead into Arthur's chest, gripping the king's furs tightly. “I can't—I can't tell. Too much cloth in the way he might still have--”

Bedivere knelt next to the younger knight, his expression somber, his eyes sad. He rest Excalibur's tip at his side, keeping his hand on the handle. “The sword doesn't, we know what that means. It has been echoing Arthur's heartbeat since he was knighted. Perhaps before.” He swallowed thickly, resting his hand on Tristan's shoulder and squeezing gently. “He's gone.”

Tristan sniffed, rubbing at his eyes and face, and George turned away. William just stared at Arthur's body, seeing too much of Uther laying there. He'd already lost one king, then felt at times he'd found him again in Arthur's quick wit and powerful stride. To lose another so soon... 

“We should stay here for the night,” he said finally, breaking the silence. “Build a fire. Take rations. If we remain here it will protect us and....and him from wolves.” 

It was a sickening prospect, but one they chose to deal with. Quickly, a heavy silence blanketing the company, they made camp.

It was George who first noticed that a fog was coming from Arthur's parted lips. He was holding a drink that suddenly slipped from his numb fingers, his eyes fixed unblinking lest he miss it. There—he wasn't imagining things. The barest wisp of breath came from Arthur's body. That alone was strange, but could have been the lungs settling. 

Then his chest rose again. 

George dropped everything and scrambled over to Arthur's body, grabbing the sword and bringing it with him. He pulled Arthur's furs back and shoved aside his tunic, laying his ear against his breast. He held his breath, one hand holding Excalibur tight, the other gripping Arthur's arm. 

A heartbeat pressed once against his ear and a moment later the sword answered it. Exclamations came up from the rest of the knights, and when George raised his head he saw Excalibur glowing more strongly. 

“He's alive--” he breathed. “He's alive, get him closer to the fire—Bedivere, collect everyone's cloaks. We must warm him.” 

They all scrambled to help. William kicked aside packs and Tristan lay out furs. Gawain poured a new cup of broth, blowing on it to ensure it was cool enough that it wouldn't scald Arthur's throat. Getting something warm into his belly was a surefire way to help warm the rest of him. Carefully, the youngest knight lifted his king's head into his lap and dribbled the liquid down his throat, watching carefully that he did not choke. 

Excalibur was forgotten. Planted as it was by the fire it continued to glow a faint blue, the color flowing along the wood-grain like blood inside of veins. Tristan quickly shed his outer layers as George relieved Arthur of his, climbing under the furs with him after George made a cursory inspection and declared the wound closed enough on its own. Tristan wrapped his arms around Arthur's body, and after he finished stoking the fire William joined on Arthur's other side. Bedivere adjusted the furs around the nest of limbs and nobody, not even Gawain dared make a joke about it. Especially not when Arthur began to shiver a few moments later and his breathing strengthened. 

Through the night Bedivere and George took it in turns to watch over Arthur, and gradually the heat came back to his body and the flush to his skin. His breathing went from unsteady to deep and audible, and gentle fingers laid just beneath his jaw every hour watched a pulse fluttering weakly turn slowly strong and steady once more. 

It was close to dawn when Arthur gave a low groan and he squirmed, opening his eyes with a bleary, unfocused look. 

George was at his side in an instant, though he had to kneel more by his head because William and Tristan had both fallen asleep with heads and arms resting on Arthur's torso. 

“Lay still, you're injured,” George warned. Arthur swallowed dryly and blinked a few more times, trying to make sense of his situation.

“What happened, why do I feel so heavy?” he mumbled, trying to look at the two lumps either side of him. He also felt very warm, and was that a leg thrown across both of his own? 

“You got separated from us, we thought you dead,” George said, resting a hand on Arthur's forehead to force him to lay back. “Excalibur had stopped reacting to you and Sir William found it discarded in the snow. Percival tracked you here and Tristan discovered you still clung to life. You feel heavy because William and Tristan climbed into the furs to help restore your warmth. Tristan fell asleep when he heard your heartbeat grow steady, and William shortly after.”

“You were far too cold, it is a miracle you are awake,” Bedivere cut in, bringing over a warm mug of tea from the pot he'd been brewing. “We thought for sure you were gone, Tristan could find no heartbeat at first, but we were proven wrong.” He gave a soft smile, helping Arthur shift out from under the two bodies enough to sip at the tea. “Go slow.” 

William stirred when Arthur shifted, his graying hair mussed as he poked it out from beneath the furs. He blinked blearily for a moment before his expression cleared and he brightened, sitting up. “You're awake!”

“And you're terrible company to bed down with, Goosefat. Your morning breath is awful,” Arthur said, shoving William's shoulder. “No wonder you aren't married. Back up a bit,” he teased, making a face and pretending to shy away. 

“Oh you're one to talk, I'm shocked Guinevere has any rest at all with the way you hog the blankets,” William shot back, a wry smile in his eyes. 

“He may hog the blankets but at least he doesn't snore,” Tristan interjected, sitting up on his side of the pile. “You sound like an old hag, Goosefat. Only reason I slept at all is because of all these furs over my head.”

Bedivere watched the banter and shook his head as he worked to cook up breakfast. When it was finished, Percival helped him dish it out, all of the knights huddling around Arthur as they peppered him with questions and George worked at bandaging his wound properly. 

Just outside the circle Excalibur stood sentry, the warm throb of Arthur's spirit flowing silent through the metal.


End file.
